


one good honest kiss (& i'll be alright)

by imbekkable



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: (minor but still there), Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blatant Flirting, Fluff and Smut, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Making Out, Martin is a bit shy at first but he gets better, Minor Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Misunderstandings, Oral Sex, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Self Confidence Issues, Tim being Tim, Tim thinks he's gonna top (he doesn't), alcohol use, rated E for the second chapter, they both have a bit of a praise kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 03:22:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25976632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imbekkable/pseuds/imbekkable
Summary: Usually, going out fills Martin with a certain kind of hope; of endless possibilities, of unlikely scenarios and implausible encounters. He knows that it's more likely than not that he will walk home alone, unkissed, untouched, undesired. And yet, the possibility remains; of meeting someone to fill the void in his chest, at least for a night, at least for a moment. He is acutely aware of how being there with Tim, Sasha and Jon diminishes his chances to do so. Just the thought of actually flirting with another human being in front of them is enough for him to abandon that plan immediately.---Tim flirts with Martin. Martin thinks he's messing with him.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Tim Stoker
Comments: 60
Kudos: 250





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't stop thinking about these two so I finally wrote this. 
> 
> As always, I must thank [Anna](https://annbun.tumblr.com) for being the best enabler out there <3  
> Also shoutout to the happy jontim dictatorship server for being truly inspiring. Y'all are way too talented.
> 
> I am sorry for the mitski lyrics, titles are hard!!
> 
> Either way, enjoy!

When they enter the pub, it is crowded and noisy, but Martin doesn’t mind. In fact, he is more comfortable with the noise drowning out the doubts he was having about tagging along with his co-workers, relaxing into his seat with the option of disappearing into the background. Tim convinced them to join, going off about the music choices and comfy seats the pub had to offer. And it’s close to the institute, too, which Martin suspects to be the main argument for it. The drinks are a bit pricier than what he would have preferred but he isn’t going to openly complain about that.

Usually, going out fills Martin with a certain kind of hope; of endless possibilities, of unlikely scenarios and implausible encounters. He knows that it's more likely than not that he will walk home alone, unkissed, untouched, undesired. And yet, the possibility remains; of meeting someone to fill the void in his chest, at least for a night, at least for a moment. He is acutely aware of how being there with Tim, Sasha and Jon diminishes his chances to do so. Just the thought of actually flirting with another human being in front of them is enough for him to abandon that plan immediately. It is also a weekday, so there’s doubt that he’d be lucky either way.

Martin tries to appear bright and happy and does his very best to engage in their conversations, to be present in the moment. Somehow that makes him end up listening to Jon talking about different types of algae for at least twenty minutes while Sasha and Tim are having a conversation of their own. Jon’s voice has a very calming effect on him, always does, and so he can’t find it in himself to interrupt his monologue. Part of him knows he is developing a solid crush on him at this point. Inexplicably, that doesn’t make him feel any less lonely. Instead it somehow amplifies the ache in his chest, turning the spotlight on the absence of affection he is experiencing.

_Jon_ , of all people. As if that is going to help his situation at all.

He watches Jon as he stands up, excusing himself while Martin swallows his feelings along with the last bit of cider in his glass. He starts to study the room, examining a group of people that are sitting at the table right next to them. There is a tall woman whose left hand is resting inside the back pocket of a black pair of jeans belonging to the man next to her, laughing at something he is saying. Martin feels his heart ache again. He should probably order another drink.

His eyes are still focussed on them when Tim decides to slide onto the bench he’s sitting on. One of his knees knocks against Martin’s, but it’s not quite enough to pull him out of his trance.

“What’s on your mind, Martin?”

“Oh,” he says intelligently, finally snapping out of it. “Nothing, really.” His reply comes quickly, and his thoughts are racing, trying to find a way to divert the attention away from him. Sasha is nowhere to be found, probably off to the counter to order more beverages. He faintly notices that Tim has opened up the first few buttons of his shirt, revealing more of his chest than what he had anticipated, and yet he’s the one feeling oddly exposed.

“Come on, you can tell me,” Tim bumps his shoulder against Martin’s. He’s awfully close, so close that Martin can smell his perfume mixed with the sweat that comes along with spending time in a stuffy room. Tim takes care of himself in a way that Martin doesn’t, especially when it comes to outer appearances. Martin tries, but Tim manages to do it so effortlessly that it is almost discouraging. It’s mostly hot, though, the way Tim carries himself, like he’s very much aware of what damage he can do. Martin tries not to think about the way he himself might look to others when he answers.

“To be honest, I’m just–“ he sighs, heavily. “I’m just thinking about– “

He’s interrupted by Sasha wordlessly putting a very full glass of cider in front of him. Before he can thank her, she’s gone again, talking to somebody Martin doesn’t recognise but appears to be a friend. An acquaintance, at least. He takes a sip, careful not to look at Tim while he does so. Maybe the disruption was enough to change the topic, if he’s lucky. The seconds pass and he realises that Tim is still waiting for an answer. The alcohol on his tongue convinces him to give in.

“God, it’s like – it’s like that, give me one good honest kiss and I’ll be alright situation, you know?”

Tim is very still for a moment and Martin dares to glance at him from the side. His brows are furrowed, and Martin is about to explain himself until suddenly, Tim gets it and his face lights up.

“Mitski! You’re quoting Mitski right now,” Tim appears to be delighted by the fact that he recognises the song, snapping his fingers and giving a little dance. Martin can’t help but smile at that before Tim switches back to a more serious facial expression and leans in. “God, Martin, are you _alright_?”

He laughs and it comes out shaky. He’s still very much aware of Tim’s knee, touching his own underneath the table. There’s a warmth radiating off of the other and it’s comforting to him. Perhaps comforting enough to open up.

“I– I don’t know. Yes, I mean, of course I’m _alright_ , I’m not– I’m not actually– you don’t have to worry about me or anything. I – I guess I just – I just haven’t had a good kiss in a while? That’s all, really.”

He emphasises his words by taking another swig from his cider. Sasha had been attentive, as it’s the same one he had just emptied. Tim is nodding in understanding, although Martin would bet that it hasn’t been more than a week or two since the other has had a good kiss. Or any kiss, really.

“You know, I could help with that.” Martin almost chokes on his drink at those words. Tim is grinning at him so innocently that he’s tempted to punch him in the arm. “As your wingman, of course.”

“Oh, right,” Martin straightens up at that and pretends that the heat on his cheek must the first side effect of the alcohol. “I– I don’t– I don’t feel comfortable being, you know, um, being out on the pull tonight.”

As if to prove his point, Jon appears back at their table, hopefully unaware of their topic. Martin can feel an upcoming mortification, a sense of impending doom if they decide to continue talking about his love life, or lack thereof. Instead he asks Tim if he knew that algae are responsible for a lot of the oxygen they breathe in and earns a scarce smile from Jon for that. His heart flutters in his chest and he grips the glass in his hands a little tighter, forcing himself not to think about kissing his co-workers.

\---

Jon is the first to leave and Martin is not surprised by that. Jon’s not the type of person to risk staying up too late being social and endangering the productivity of the next day. Martin can’t reproach him for that. He’s on the fence about leaving himself when Jon’s saying his goodbyes, but there is something making him stay. An obligation to his co-workers, his friends, maybe. They’ve been working together for a few months now, but he still feels a little bit like the odd one out. The feeling doesn’t decrease as he listens to Sasha and Tim talking about a situation that he wasn’t any part of. He does appreciate the fact that Tim doesn’t bring up what they had been talking about earlier. At least, until Sasha leaves in a hurry, a rushed excuse on her lips, and they’re the only ones left.

“Okay, so, if you could kiss anyone here, who would it be?” Tim asks him without missing a beat as soon as Sasha is out of earshot, picking up their conversation like they hadn’t just spent several hours talking about entirely different topics. They’re sitting next to each other again, so at least Martin can safely avoid eye contact. He looks at Tim’s arm instead, resting next to his own on the table, as Tim’s hand is fidgeting with the label of his bottle, looks at the veins and the muscles, prominent, attractive. He knows the answer to that question, but he’s not drunk enough to tell him. Instead he leans back, taking his time, not granting Tim a quick or easy answer. He scans the room as he drinks from his glass, looks at the different clusters of people. He wonders what they’re here for, who tagged along after a long workday, to let the evening die away with a drink or two. If anybody else might be longing for a connection. There’s a man wearing a shirt that’s just a bit too tight who catches his attention.

“That one over there, by the bar. Blue shirt. He’s– he’s quite cute.”

He hasn’t really talked about his own sexuality much at the archive, but he’s very much aware of the fact that Tim is bi. Tim is open about his own sexuality like he is about almost every aspect of his own being. Martin finds it worth admiring, wishes he had a bit more of his confidence. It’s part of what makes Tim so goddamn attractive, too.

“Alright, sure, he’s cute,” Martin can sense that Tim’s not quite finished with that sentence and crosses his arms. He’s not going to defend his taste in men, but he still wants to hear what he has to say about it.

“But?”

Next to him, Tim is clucking his tongue, and when he turns to look back at Martin, he meets his eye. Martin’s heart skips a beat.

“But not nearly as cute as me.”

Martin rolls his eyes and prods Tim with his elbow, not hard enough for it to hurt, but Tim exclaims anyway.

“Tim, be serious.”

“I am. I’m– I’m just saying– no, hear me out, Martin,” Tim is licking his lips, eagerly, gesticulating with his hands and Martin’s attempts to interrupt him come up short. Tim’s hair is dishevelled in a way that’s _just right_ , and somehow, he has managed to open up even more buttons of the shirt he is wearing, Martin only notices now. He tries not to stare. “It’s obvious. Quite obvious, actually. Look, you’re attractive. And – No, I’m _serious_ , don’t give me that look.”

Tim’s finger pokes him in the chest, almost accusatory. As if it was a wild thing to think that Martin was anything other than attractive. He feels flattered and hot, and his breath hitches when Tim’s hand comes up to rest on one of his shoulders. This can’t be happening.

“You’re attractive,” he repeats. “And so am I. Just two beautiful people, you know, I think it would only be – be _logical_ , really, if we were to kiss.”

“Right,” Martin’s voice is absolutely flat with disbelief. His mouth feels horribly dry, and his hands feel weird and sweaty while Tim’s is strengthening its grip on his shoulder, making things somehow even worse.

“You know you want to,” and then Tim has the audacity to actually _wink_ at him, which makes Martin snort and break out of his trance.

“Right,” he repeats, now convinced that Tim is messing with him, and he empties the rest of the cider in one go. “I’m going.”

“What? No– Martin–“

“Sorry, Tim, I’m just– I’m not up for games like that.”

He has gotten up, buttoned up the first three buttons of his coat and is halfway through the pub when Tim finally catches up with him.

“Martin,” he repeats, and it’s pleading, but Martin’s filled with a stubborn determination that guides him through the last group of people until he is out through the door. The cold night air hits his face and succeeds in showing him the effect of his alcohol intake effectively. His mind feels foggy as he continues walking. Tim hasn’t given up and they’re far away from the pub that the noise is just a distant rumbling when he’s finally back by his side.

“Martin, will you please stop, I didn’t mean to– I didn’t mean it that way.”

“Then explain to me, Tim, what were you doing exactly?” Martin stops dead in his tracks, so suddenly that Tim has to turn around to face him. The street they’re in is quiet, a small park lying on Martin’s left-hand side. At least it’s unlikely for them to encounter somebody here, away from the bustling main streets, which makes it easier for his emotions to break out of him.

“I– I was trying to flirt with you!”

Martin scoffs and wonders if he should just keep on walking. He doesn’t.

“What for?” Martin doesn’t even try to not sound mad at him. He’s done playing nice. Tim’s gaping at him in disbelief, which just makes him feel even more irritated.

“Well, take a wild fucking guess, Martin.”

“I don’t know, maybe you enjoy seeing the– the _impact_ you have on others, like it’s– it’s obvious that you’re attractive. Of course, _I_ find you attractive. You don’t– you don’t have to go out of your way and make me _say_ it just so you can feel better. I mean, it’s fucking _obvious_ that I’d rather kiss you than any other people in the room. There, happy?” Martin’s still angry as he speaks, so his words come out reproachful. He can’t find it in himself to care. He walks past Tim, ashamed of being honest.

“Do it, then.”

Tim’s words are almost enough to take the wind out of his sails, but not quite. They do manage to make him stand still. Martin’s fists remain clenched even as he’s having a hard time articulating his response as he turns back around.

“What?”

“Kiss me.”

“You know what? Sure.”

It’s mostly out of spite when Martin crosses the distance between them. Tim’s facial expression is not quite what Martin expects and just for an instance, he finds soft astonishment there. And then he’s kissing him, firmly and desperately and without a second thought. His hands cup both sides of Tim’s face as he presses his lips against his, before one hand finds Tim’s hair, tugging at it, emphasising the urgency. The way their lips fit together is everything but gentle and when he pulls away, breathless, he’s left with a want for more. His hands stay just a moment longer than they need to, and when he lets them sink to his sides, his chest starts aching again. He takes a step back and sighs.

“Satisfied?” he asks, feeling utterly defeated. What a stupid thing to do, to kiss your co-worker just because he riles you up. Although, he knows that it’s not just that, not really. He can’t deny that Tim has crossed his mind at night and has attracted his undivided attention during the day more often than not. He wishes he hadn’t given in; wishes he had more self-control. Wishes Tim would stop staring at him with such a strange look in his eye.

“Almost,” Tim says and steps forward.

He’s not rushing it; he’s taking his time. There’s a hand that finds its place on Martin’s cheek and another one that settles on the small of his back and before Martin can grasp what is happening, Tim is kissing him again. Martin can’t believe how _soft_ it actually is, to be kissed by Tim Stoker. Something in his chest stirs and he can feel his own intentions becoming indistinct. It no longer feels like a thing to do out of anger, that’s for sure. He can’t help but melt into it, melt into the warmth of Tim’s body as he pulls him in. Tim’s lips move against his with a sort of determination that makes his heart flutter in his chest, and when Martin opens his mouth, Tim’s tongue finds his with a self-evidence Martin didn’t think plausible. He tries not to moan in pleasure, tries to hide how much he had yearned for someone to kiss him, kiss him like _that_ , but Tim tilts his head and moves his hands and Martin does it, anyway. They break away only to share a look of something that feels an awful lot like desire before going in again, their lips meeting with increasing heat and Martin knows he’s getting hard in his jeans already.

“Tim,” he finally says in a moment of respite. He’s breathless and dizzy and he can’t stop staring at Tim’s lips, open and wet and unbearable. A smug grin finds its way back onto Tim’s gorgeous face and Martin groans and shoves at his chest. “I honestly thought you were fucking with me.”

“Well, I am _trying_ to get there.”

Martin laughs, laughs at the idea, but when Tim looks at him, the laughter dies down quickly.

“You’re serious.”

“I’ve been serious all night, Martin.”

“Wow, um, right,” he bites his lip and avoids his eye, stares at the ground instead. This can’t be happening. Surely, this isn’t actually happening. He forces himself to not think about having sex with Tim and instead he says, “I guess, um, I’m sorry? Sorry for, ah, saying that. What I said earlier. It’s just that I– I find it hard to believe that you could actually be into me?”

“Okay,” Tim furrows his brow, apparently thinking it over. “Okay, well, let me convince you.”

And then Tim pulls him in again, his arms strong enough to do it swiftly, and Martin can’t believe that it’s actually making him giggle so he blames the alcohol. Tim’s breath is hot against his ear and Martin shivers, completely at his mercy.

“I think you’re _hot_ , Martin. You’re gorgeous. I want to put my mouth on every visible part of skin on your body and then remove your clothes so I can count your freckles with my tongue.”

“Fuck,” Martin breathes and closes his eyes and when Tim actually puts his mouth on his neck, he has to hold onto the fabric of Tim’s shirt, so he doesn’t become liquid right there in his arms.

“At least I’m hoping there are more,” Tim mumbles, referring to his freckles, his lips still close enough to his skin that Martin can feel their movement as he speaks.

“There are,” Martin squeaks before he can stop himself, because yes, that sounds quite nice actually. Tim hums against his neck, approving.

“I have more to say, but I’d rather do so in the comfort of my own home,” Tim says, just a bit more serious and Martin realises that they’ve truly been snogging out in the open for a timespan he could not even try to measure. “So, may I interest you in a cup of tea at my place? I know how much you like those.”

Tim’s arms are open, and his face is smug again, but this time, Martin feels challenged to wipe it off with words and actions. This time, he’s the one to lean in, and he makes sure to make Tim wait for his answer, makes sure to let his breath cause goosebumps on his skin.

“You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into, Stoker,” he says, finally, and it’s barely more than a whisper. It’s a suggestion, a warning, almost. If they’re going to do this, they were going to do it according to his ideas, too. He’ll make sure that Tim is going to have a good time, of course. But he’s not sure if the other knows what that implies. This time, Tim shivers in clear anticipation.

“I can’t wait to find out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is my first time writing martim which was a bit difficult at first cause their dynamic surely is something different?? But ahh it was fun!!!
> 
> I'd honestly love to hear your thoughts on this <3 you can also find me [on tumblr!](http://imbekkable.tumblr.com/)


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Make sure to check the tags first before reading, as this fic is rated E! They have been updated for the second chapter. (Unless you wanna be surprised, then proceed at your own risk)
> 
> Once again I owe [ Anna ](https://annbun.tumblr.com)so much, she really helped me with the editing process of this chapter. Thank youuu <3
> 
> Well, without further ado, I'm just gonna leave this here and hide. Enjoy!

Keeping his hands away from Martin resembles a form of torture, at least in Tim’s opinion. It takes a lot of his willpower to do so, while they sit next to each other on the tube, on the way to his flat, acting like they both aren’t thinking about what they are about to do to each other. His knee is bouncing impatiently, but he doesn’t dare to touch Martin, doesn’t dare to cause him discomfort by showing his affection so publicly, since they aren’t the only people in the compartment. His thoughts start to drift, to a different reality where they are very much alone, where his hands would be able to drift over Martin’s thigh, to grab the skin there, and _feel him_.

He shifts in his seat and clears his throat, trying his best to appear like a person that isn’t absolutely aroused, but one look at Martin tells him that there’s no use. Martin’s face has a teasing quality, which does nothing but encourage him further.

Tim thinks about Martin and the beauty of him, his warm personality, of the kindness he emits, but also of the possibility of more, of what else might lie underneath that. There’s a certain kind of cunningness when it comes to Martin, something you wouldn’t expect when you first look at him. He wonders what he’ll be able to witness once they’re completely alone. He thinks about his body, too, the way Martin is big, taller even than him. Tim wonders if he might be able to feel a bit smaller in his arms, a bit more vulnerable, but decides not to dwell on that thought too much. He wants to make Martin feel good, most of all, wants to show him that feeling insecure is not just unnecessary but actually quite ridiculous, in his opinion. Martin is burly but soft where he is toned and muscular, and he wants, _needs_ to be able to dig his fingers into his skin, into his thighs, into his belly, if Martin lets him. He wants to feel him, so badly.

“I should let you know that I’m losing my mind over here,” he whispers, leaning into Martin just a little so that his words don’t carry over to anyone who isn’t supposed to hear them.

“Oh, is that so?” Martin replies so innocently that Tim actually huffs. He appears to be almost unbothered, even humming slightly, his hands clasped loosely in his lap. It’s making Tim grin in anticipation, his nonchalance merely more reason to turn him on.

\---

Tim’s lips are on Martin’s as soon as they’re inside the elevator in his apartment building. To his delight, Martin decides to put his hands right on his arse, no reason to hold back any longer, and Tim yelps out of joy when Martin squeezes. The ride is taking too long and not long enough all at the same time, and as soon as the doors opens, they stumble outside, giddy like teenagers. He does a little samba step down the hallway, just for the hell of it. Martin watches, watches as he moves his hips. He even does a little twirl and it’s making Martin laugh but his eyes remain hungry, so Tim decides to hurry up and starts fumbling for his keys.

Finally, Tim’s holding the key to his flat in his hand and he runs the last few steps to his door, too eager, perhaps, but it’s provoking more laughter out of Martin so it’s definitely worth it.

He doesn’t give Martin much time to look at his flat once they’re in, as it is more important to return his mouth to his. They find each other with an almost magnetic force, Martin’s coat is being discarded immediately, and then Tim pushes Martin against the wall, kicks the door shut with his foot, no time to lose, no time to waste. He moves his hands over Martin’s body, not exactly carefully but still attentive to see how Martin’s reacting to it. Martin lets him, without protest, and he digs his finger into his thighs and into his chest and into everything he can reach.

He’s about to fuck Martin Blackwood.

The thought crosses his mind, and he feels like he could possibly black out by the thrill rushing through him. He’s about to fuck Martin and he’s going to treat him like he deserves, he’s going to put his mouth on him and make him come more than once, he’s decided.

He drops down onto his knees, ready to open his jeans, but Martin stops him by putting a hand on his cheek, almost playfully. His thumb moves over his bottom lip and Tim looks up at him, but his face is unreadable.

“No,” Martin says and it’s clear and strong. Tim can’t help but shiver. It’s one small word but it makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up, the way it is said, assertively.

_Fuck._

He wonders if he’s reading too much into it; maybe Martin’s just not comfortable with receiving oral. But there’s something about his posture, something about his face that’s making his insides churn. He licks his lips and wonders if he’s supposed to stand up, suddenly unsure of how to act, but Martin guides him by taking his hand, helping him up.

His thoughts are still racing when Martin smiles at him, his head tilted slightly. Martin raises an eyebrow and it’s _hot_ , so Tim decides to just kiss him again. Martin chuckles slightly against his lips before returning it.

“Eager, are we?” Martin’s voice is throaty as he speaks, and he puts his hands on Tim’s hips while he does so. He’s still not quite sure if he’s imagining it, the undertone of dominance, but then Martin tightens his grip and spins him around easily, and for a moment, he doesn’t think at all. He finds himself to be the one being pushed against the wall, but Martin goes even further and grabs him, shoves him further up by grasping his thighs.

There’s a small, surprised “ _Oh_ ” leaving his mouth as Martin does so, and he puts his arms around his shoulder and his legs around his hips, assisting him in his actions. Martin holds him up with ease, and Tim can feel his hips against his own, thinks about rolling his forward. He doesn’t, not yet, doesn’t really dare to do anything now that Martin is overwhelming him by acting like _that_ , so instead he focusses on the sensation of Martin’s lips against his neck.

“Oh, fuck,” he sighs as Martin bites the spot where his neck meets his shoulder. “Martin?”

He makes his name sound like a question, wants to know if it’s just the rush of the moment, or if he’s in for more. He hopes Martin understands. It’s hard not to wish for it, but he tells himself not to be disappointed, either way.

“You have no right looking so hot, you know that? So fucking stunning,” Martin says instead, and it’s not the answer he was hoping for, but it’s more than enough to make his hips roll forward, meeting Martin’s. Feeling Martin’s erection against his own suffices in making him moan, but Martin doesn’t move. It’s infuriating, and he thinks it might be part of his plan. Tim lets his hips roll forward once more, impatiently.

“Stop,” Martin says with the same tone as before. Tim lets his head fall back against the wall and looks at Martin, expecting him to go on. His heart is beating very fast in his chest. “Now, Tim, tell me,” there’s a moment of silence between them. Tim’s holding his breath and he can feel his dick twitch in anticipation before Martin goes on, “Do you want to submit to me tonight?”

Tim has to actually close his eyes, has to take a few, deep breaths before he comes right there in his trousers. He can hear Martin’s smile in his voice as he goes on, “I’ll make sure you’ll have a good time. But you’re not allowed to touch me, or yourself, at least until I say so. How does that sound?”

“That sounds unbearable,” Tim opens his eyes again and tries to sound smug about it, not quite wanting to give that up just yet, but his excitement is getting the better of him. “Please, Martin, oh god, yes, _please_.”

“Nothing excessive, of course,” Martin shifts some of Tim’s weight onto his legs so he can use one hand, uses it to caress Tim’s cheek. “I’m not going to hurt you. In fact, I’m going to be _really_ good to you, Tim,” and as if to emphasise his words, Martin’s mouth finds its way back onto his neck.

“Are you going to fuck me, too?” Tim asks, unabashedly, because he _needs_ to know. The sensation on his neck changes to what he knows are Martin’s teeth. He shivers.

“Perhaps. Are you going to behave?”

“I’m–“ Tim has to swallow, his tongue heavy. “I might need– need some tying up?”

It’s a suggestion, but they’re this far in already, so he might as well just give it a shot.

“Oh?” Martin’s head comes up again to look at him, looking him over, and his gaze is doing many, awful and wonderful things to Tim. “We’ll see about that.”

Martin changes the grasp of his hands and Tim suddenly finds himself to be carried, carried through his own flat. He can’t help but giggle, gripping Martin’s shoulder tightly. The atmosphere of just a moment ago has shifted and been replaced by something a bit more carefree, but it’s nice. He’s enjoying it, being carried around. It’s not something he usually gets to experience.

“Um, so, where– ?” Martin asks and Tim shifts in his arms so he can look at him, his mind full of what they’re about to do.

“Actually, I wouldn’t mind going to the bathroom first,” he says, and Martin lets him down gently. “If you want a glass of water or anything, please, help yourself,” Tim continues and points Martin to the kitchen. Martin looks only a little lost but nods, and Tim blows him a kiss as he walks away.

“Nice flat, by the way,” he can hear Martin call just as he closes the door. He grins, grins at himself in the mirror, allows himself to have a little moment to be happy about how the night is progressing. But then there’s once again an urge to continue, to find himself back in Martin’s arms. He hurries up and then makes sure to clean himself properly, wonders if he should shave but figures that Martin probably doesn’t mind a bit of hair. And if he does, he can still do it then. He believes there’s going to be no problem communicating with Martin, now that the misunderstanding of earlier is out of the way. He considers stepping out naked, too, but thinks it’s better to leave the unclothing up to Martin.

He feels a lot fresher once he leaves the bathroom and finds Martin in the living room, looking at the games next to the tv. He has managed to procure a glass of water and his face lights up as he notices Tim, who tries to ignore the silly things it does to him in return.

“Right, where were we?” Tim makes himself sound like a businessman, clasping his hands together like he’s about to make some sort of deal, and Martin rolls his eyes, smiling. He puts the glass down and when he walks towards him, it gives Tim goosebumps.

“I was going to carry you to your bedroom.”

And then Martin kneels down only to hoist him over his shoulder, picking him up once again while holding onto his legs. Tim has to yelp and hopes he doesn’t get used to that, feeling like he’s enjoying being handled like that a little bit too much already.

“Right,” he manages between his laughter. “Um, it’s – yeah, to the right. No, no, your right!”

Martin spins him around and he feels dizzy and wonderful. They somehow manage to open the door to the right room and then Tim’s being dumped onto the bed. He wants to make a comment about Martin’s strength, but his words get stuck in his throat. One look at Martin and he knows the break is over. The charged mood of before has returned, and Tim’s very much ready for that.

“Now, before we start – “ Martin doesn’t need to go on, Tim’s already leaning over, opening a drawer of his bedside table to grab the lube, tissues and some condoms. He considers taking more items out of the drawer but doesn’t want to overdo it. Martin said they weren’t going to do anything excessive. At least not tonight.

He presents the objects to Martin with an eager grin on his face and Martin nods in approval.

“We still need something to tie you up with, I believe.”

“Oh, so we _are_ doing that. Brilliant,” Tim gets up from the bed and walks over to his wardrobe, even does a little skip because he’s that excited. He can hear Martin chuckle and it fills him with warmth up to his fingertips. The silk tie he’s looking for is easy enough to be found, and he’s rushing back to the bed immediately, bumping the bedstead in his enthusiasm.

“So eager,” Martin says, nearly repeating his words from earlier, and it’s almost a purr. He takes the silk tie from him, deems it appropriate and puts it on a pillow before he proceeds to put both hands on Tim’s body. Martin’s hands are big, so incredibly big, and Tim sinks back into the mattress effortlessly. Martin moves until he’s sitting between his legs before he takes off Tim’s shirt, only a few more buttons left, anyway, and kisses him softly. He finds both of Tim’s hands without breaking away and moves them up over his head. He doesn’t actually do anything besides that for a few minutes, just kisses him while holding his hands securely, with Tim’s back pressed into the mattress, their fingers interlocked.

Tim knows that it shouldn’t feel so sweet, that it shouldn’t move him the way it does, but there’s nothing he can do about it and his chest feels strange once Martin breaks away. As Martin gets to work, he makes sure that he’s not tying his hands together too tightly, asks him several times if it feels alright. It’s very caring, in a way, and Tim swallows hard.

“Right,” Martin sits back on his heels and looks at him, seriously. “I – I am getting a feeling that you’re comfortable with this.”

“Me?” Tim says, quickly trampling down any soppy emotions with all the sarcasm he can offer. It earns him a smirk.

“I mean, we’re tying you up mostly because I don’t think you can behave yourself otherwise, but still, if there’s anything that – that I’m doing, that you don’t agree with…”

“Please, Martin. I can handle it.”

“I’m sure you can. But still, _if_ … I think the word _tangerine_ will do.”

“Alright. Tangerine. Got it,” he’s serious when he says it, because he can guess that Martin won’t start until that’s clear.

“Great,” Martin pats his thigh approvingly and looks like he’s gathering his thoughts. “Now, as I said, you’re not allowed to move, not your hips or any other part of your body. You may talk. I– I want you to tell me what you feel, how _I_ make you feel. I want you to tell me when you’re close, and I want you to know that I won’t let you come that easily. Is that alright with you?”

Martin is tilting his head again and he’s smiling, and Tim feels like he’s about to die right there, possibly. He clears his throat twice before he answers, but it still comes out scratchy.

“Yes. Very much alright with me.”

“Perfect,” Martin says and kisses him one last time, before he starts moving further down. Tim closes his eyes again, tries to breathe like a normal human being would. He opens them as soon as he feels Martin fidgeting around with his belt, and before long, his trousers come off with a swift movement. His cock is remarkably unsubtle about that development. Martin spends some time just looking at him and it’s excruciating and nice and not what Tim is used to. Sure, people enjoy looking at his body, but once his cock is part of the action, there isn’t much time for that, usually. Martin, however, seems to be in no rush and then comes back up again without touching him. He kisses the corner of his mouth.

“You are so fucking beautiful. I can barely believe it.”

_You are,_ not _you look_ ; it’s a statement, no room for doubt. Tim’s not that easily flustered but Martin is on his best way to succeed in that. On his way back down, Martin leaves an uncountable number of kisses on his torso and soon enough, he’s settling back in between his legs. He starts off slow, _of_ _course_ , moving his lips and his tongue over the insides of Tim’s thighs, pushing them further apart so he can have better access.

Tim’s already struggling to stay still, and it’s somehow worse that he’s allowed to look, allowed to witness what Martin’s doing to him. Martin’s hands roam over his body, flat to allow the most contact, warm in the best way possible. He then wraps one around his dick, suddenly, _finally_ , and gives an experimental stroke.

Tim bites his lips and then remembers that he’s allowed to make noise and so he does. Martin gives him a cheeky grin, strokes him a few more times and then sinks down on him, maintaining eye contact. It’s right then when Tim starts having difficulties forming any coherent thought, but he feels like he doesn’t need to. Instead he lets the pleasure take over, focussing the warmth of Martin’s mouth, on what his lips and tongue are doing do him. It’s hard to remain still, as all he wants to do is thrust upward, but one of Martin’s hands is resting right underneath his bellybutton, a silent reminder that he’s not allowed to. His other hand is working alongside his mouth and it’s slowly driving Tim insane.

Martin is taking him in with no problem, and part of Tim wants to call him eager, too. But he knows that that’s a dangerous path to tread on. He does decide to talk, though.

“Martin, your– your mouth feels so fucking good.”

It earns him a satisfied hum which sends vibration through his dick and his whole body. He strains against the silk tie, but it doesn’t budge; he doesn’t want it to, not really. Martin is picking up the pace, gliding up and down his shaft while constantly changing the pressure. He then decides to remove his hand from Tim’s abdomen and instead puts it on Tim’s balls, gives them a gentle squeeze. Tim can feel his his muscles tensing up, can feel his legs twitching.

“Careful,” he breathes once he knows he’s close, but Martin keeps going and for a second, he thinks he’s allowed to come already. He’s almost there, right before the edge, and his back arches upwards but then Martin’s mouth is gone and so is the sensation. He lies there, staring at the ceiling, trying to chase the feeling of Martin’s mouth on his cock but instead the air of the room just feels cold on his wet dick. “Fuck. That’s just mean.”

“Oh, is it?” Martin asks, once again pretending he’s innocent in the matter, as he wipes at his mouth. “You think that was mean? Want me to do it a few more times?”

“You’re kidding– “

He’s not, Tim finds out as his words are being interrupted by Martin going back to sucking him off. There’s a newfound vigour in his movements, and there’s also more spit involved this time, which succeeds in making it almost impossible for Tim to stay still. He’s not sure he can make it through a second time, let alone more than that, but he wants to show Martin his best side and at least try. It’s not like it’s actually up to him, anyway.

Martin is humming again, adding muffled moans to his presentation, and Tim’s so lost in the moment that he forgets to warn Martin. The build-up takes no time at all; he’s sucking in his breath, feels the pleasure shoot through his body, but Martin is horribly alert, and stops once more.

“Don’t forget to talk to me,” Martin says so sweetly, licking his lips, and it almost doesn’t sound like a warning. Tim is breathing very heavily at this point but manages to grin and nod.

“Yes, sir.”

“Oh, no need to be so formal,” Martin is grinning when he bends down again, and Tim is afraid he has gotten barely any time to recover at all. “Unless, you’re into that.”

Martin doesn’t wait for an answer, and Tim can’t find it in himself to give him one, either, as he is once again taken to another plane by the flick of Martin’s tongue. He has to shut his eyes, has to try not to come undone by every tiny thing Martin is doing to him. Martin shifts and he can here the plasticky click of a cap coming off.

“Oh, fuck me,” Tim sighs, exasperated, doesn’t look, doesn’t _dare_ to look.

“Not yet,” Martin says cheerfully once he’s pulled away, but presses a finger to his opening either way. The new sensation is not exactly a distraction but rather an added layer to the ways Martin is deconstructing him. He’s falling apart, piece by piece.

“You’re being really good to me, Tim,” Martin says and then slides the first finger in. He works slowly and carefully but is determined enough all the same. His other hand is stroking Tim’s cock, lazily, never letting go.

“I can’t – can’t wait to be inside you,” Martin mumbles and almost destroys Tim with his words.

“Ah, fuck, do it, do it, Martin, _please_ , fuck me.”

“Patience. First, I want you to relax.”

He does, even though his cock is telling him to tense up, but Tim wills himself to listen to Martin, to relax his muscles, as Martin adds more lube and then another finger.

“Perfect. You’re perfect. You’re doing so great, Tim.”

He tries to retort but Martin fingers leave him unable to do so. Martin gives his cock a lick starting from the base up to the tip of it and then picks up the speed of his hand, moving easily with his saliva, while his other hand is still busy opening him up. Tim’s not exactly sure but he thinks there might be three fingers now.

“Ah, fuck, I’m–“

Tim’s about to come for the third time that night and once again, Martin doesn’t let him. He’s awfully close when Martin’s hands stop moving, and he knows that there must be precum on his cock and on Martin’s hands, mixed with Martin’s spit.

“You’re a criminal,” Tim groans once he’s able to speak again, once his voice returns.

“Now, now, do you want me to fuck you or not? Here I thought I was being _so_ good to you.” Martin is cleaning his hands as he talks and then starts taking his clothes off. For the first time in a while, Tim stops thinking about his dick for a second and stares at Martin instead.

“Fuck. Oh, fuck, Martin. You’re – god, you’re so hot.”

Tim thinks his words might be increasing the blush on him, although it’s hard to tell, as Martin’s chest and cheeks and ears are all wonderfully flushed already. Martin does definitely look too flustered to answer, and then he’s naked, too, and they’re both just quiet for a moment. Tim’s eyes drink in every soft curve his body has to offer, and every edge, too. There are certainly more freckles than he had anticipated, and he hopes he’ll be allowed to trace them, with his hands, with his mouth, at some point. He’s quite content to notice that Martin’s cock is as big as the rest of him suggests, and longs for him to finally get to it, to feel him inside him.

Martin seems to read his mind and moves to pick up a condom, but halts and then, miraculously, releases Tim’s hands from the silk tie instead.

Tim takes a moment to rub his wrists, turning them and shaking his hands until he feels like they’re once again well supplied with blood. Which is strange, since he’s partially convinced that all his blood has found its way to his dick by now. Martin waits patiently, one hand stroking his own erection, the other one resting on Tim’s thigh.

“Happy?” Martin asks so teasingly it goes straight down to Tim’s cock.

“Not until you fuck me, I’m afraid,” Tim tries to sound as matter-of-factly as possible, but he can’t quite keep the grin out of it. However, his dick is quite desperate, so at least his words are true. He wants to touch Martin, wants to climb on top of him and ride him until he comes, but something tells him that that’s not how it’s going to go.

“Alright then. If I _must_ ,” Martin sighs, almost as if it’s bothersome to him and Tim smacks his arm at that. Martin laughs; a sound nearly too sweet for the situation they’re in. It’s not quite gone when he clears his throat. “Turn around.”

Tim follows that instruction happily and grabs a pillow to hold onto. One of Martin’s hands is on his arse and there’s a ripping sound that tells him that he’s found a condom with the other. He feels Martin’s fingers once again, slick with lube, but then the pressure changes, and he holds in his breath.

“Breathe for me, Tim,” Martin whispers, reaches one hand around his body so he can stroke Tim’s cock a few times. He complies and then feels Martin push in, slowly, holding onto Tim’s hips with both of his hands now. Tim feels like Martin must be holding back, to make sure it’s not too much, too fast, and he decides to ignore the rules and push back, just a little. Martin groans, pulls back, gets the message and thrusts forward, harder this time.

“Fuck,” Martin’s voice is barely audible as he buries his cock up to the hilt inside of him. “You feel amazing.”

“So does your cock,” Tim teases and he earns another thrust for that which shuts him up fast. Martin fucks him slowly and Tim enjoys it, even though he usually prefers a quicker pace. Tim feels his hands roam over his back, down his thighs and up to his arse again. It’s obvious that Martin enjoys the feeling of his skin against his hands. Martin fucks him like he wants to savour the moment. It’s making Tim’s head spin quite a bit.

“I want to see your face,” Tim says without thinking about it first, the realisation enough to voice it immediately. It sounds horribly desperate, but he feels like he’s earned that. Martin keeps thrusting into him as he leans forward, and Tim can feel his breath on his neck.

“And how do you propose to do that?”

“May I– ah, fuck, may I ride you?” he asks, hopefully. Martin lets him wait for an answer, deepens the thrusts just to make it a bit more nerve-wracking, but then he pulls out, and the loss of the sensation is just about agonizing.

“Gladly,” Martin answers and Tim cheers on the inside. They switch positions so Martin’s lying on his back, and Tim can finally, _finally_ let his own hands touch Martin’s body. He climbs on top of him, avid to feel him back inside of him, and wastes no time to sink down. His pace is hard and fast, and he watches with delight as Martin shuts his eyes and claws at his thighs. It’s his turn to let his hands explore every inch of Martin he can reach, all the while thrusting down on him. Martin’s eyes remain closed.

“Look at me,” Tim demands, because it’s what he deserves. Martin blinks and meets his eye, but then looks at the ceiling instead. “Martin.”

He watches as Martin’s lips move without a sound, and he thrusts down harder. “What’s that?”

“Ah, it’s– It’s nothing,” Martin stutters as his eyes shut close again.

“Tell me,” Tim demands, feeling in control with the new position. It’s fun, how their roles can change so seamlessly.

“I’m– I’m just trying to– What’s forty-six times eight?” Martin says, and Tim thinks he must have misheard.

“What?”

“If I keep looking at you without distraction, I’ll – I’ll come. Immediately. You’re – god, I mean, look at you.”

“So, you’re– you’re doing multiplication?” Tim has stopped his movement and just looks at him in astonishment. Tim feels positively flustered now. “That’s– that’s kind of cute, actually.”

“Shut up,” Martin laughs again, and he’s obviously a little embarrassed. Tim thinks he might have to kiss him, hard, so he does. Martin uses the moment to thrust up into him, and Tim can only guess that he might have lost the privilege of leading.

His intuition proves right as Martin spins them around again. He somehow manages to remain inside of Tim while he does so, and he’s back to thrusting into him without missing a beat soon enough. It seems like Martin has given up on maths because he’s looking right at him now while he fucks into him, hard. Tim wraps his leg around him, supports him in his movements. One of Martin’s hands finds its place back around Tim’s cock, where it belongs. His strokes are merciless, and Tim shakes underneath him.

“Are you going to be good to me and come?” Martin asks, and the way his hips move is a clear indication of the orgasm that must be building inside him. Tim’s cock is more than ready to fulfil that wish, and so he simply grins and nods ever so slightly. “Do it, then.”

Tim’s somewhat aware that those words sound familiar, but he has no time to think about it. He feels Martin thrust into him one, two, three more times and Tim curses with each movement. He digs his fingers into Martin’s arms and only stops cursing when the orgasm starts rolling over him, shuts him up, takes his breath away entirely.

It’s intense in a way he’s often too impatient to let himself experience, the build-up of their act finally coming to its peak, and he doesn’t think at all as it shoots through him, reaching every part of his body. It must be enough to send Martin over the edge, too, as his thrusts become urgent and rough, his hips rolling forward with need. Tim comes first, spilling over Martin’s hand and onto his body up to his chest, but Martin follows him, buried deep. Their eyes meet and there’s a small, shared perfection that lies in that moment. Tim feels the pleasure rolling over him, enjoys the wonderful aftermath as Martin stills and then flops down on top of him.

“Sorry. –m heavy. I’ll– I’ll move in a second,” Martin mumbles against his shoulder. Tim would try and wrap himself around him to make him stay, but he doesn’t think he’ll be able to move his body any time soon, every limb of him flaccid. Martin grunts and then shuffles a little so he can pull out and get the condom off. They’re both disgustingly sweaty, and Tim’s cum is sticky between them, but he can’t care less, not right now. He just about manages to raise an arm to put around Martin, to ensure that he remains lying there on top of him.

Martin feels like the best weighted blanket, Tim thinks, and it takes barely any time at all for him to start drifting off. Martin chuckles and it’s enough to keep him up.

“So good it made you pass out immediately, huh?” Martin asks and then rolls off of him, settles in next to him. Tim misses the weight of his body immediately, but at least they’re still close enough to touch. He rubs at his eyes and looks at Martin, a lazy smile on his face.

“Correct,” he can’t find a reason not to agree with that, and then yawns. “That was fun. Didn’t know you had all that in you, to be honest.”

“People tend to underestimate me,” Martin shrugs, and Tim thinks that that’s an understatement. “But you should know that– that I was being sincere, earlier. Sex just – just makes me flip the switch, somehow.”

“Well, glad it does, five-star-rating, will come again,” his voice is heavy with innuendo and he allows himself to curl in a little closer, so he can feel more of Martin’s presence. Martin puts an arm around him, pulls him in, and starts stroking his back.

“Oh, is that so?”

“If you let me, sure,” Tim tries to sound casual, tries to make it sound like it doesn’t matter to him, either way. The way Martin is touching him is successfully destroying every bit of smugness left in him, but he can still try to cling onto it.

“Doesn’t sound that bad, actually,” Martin mumbles, and Tim hides his smile against his chest.

Tim thinks it’s funny, how Martin thought he was the one to be embarrassed by his obvious longing for someone. Tim thinks it’s funny, how he’s the one now melting underneath his touch. Except, he doesn’t think it’s funny, not exactly, but he’s not foolish enough to call it something else and so he doesn’t.

They need a shower and then some sleep. But Tim can’t help but stay there, just a little longer, while Martin touches him so gently. It’s almost enough to make him fall asleep again, but then a thought crosses his mind.

“Three hundred and sixty-eight.”

“What?” Martin seems to be half-asleep as well, his hand slow and lazy.

“Forty-six times eight equals three hundred and sixty-eight.”

“Nerd,” Martin says with an unbearable amount of affection and Tim has no choice but to hide his face again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently I've been writing this chapter with a particular version of Tim on my mind, because you can imagine him coming into work the next day pretty much [exactly like that picture by moetshander would suggest.](https://moetshander.tumblr.com/post/623197881402376192)
> 
> WELL, this surely has been something different for me to write and I'd be happy to hear some constructive feedback (or any feedback!) on it 🥰 Thanks for reading!!
> 
> EDIT:   
> [I'm speechless over the fact that this fic now has incredible fanart by @kelasparmak!!! 🥺](https://kelasparmak.tumblr.com/post/627368626858721280/if-any-of-you-havent-read-one-good-honest-kiss) I'm literally blown away by the beauty of it, so go check it out! ❤️


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